


Overdrive Under the Tie-Die Sky

by osmalic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dating, M/M, Pining, Teenage Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-03
Updated: 2009-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:49:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osmalic/pseuds/osmalic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is 17 when he falls in love for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overdrive Under the Tie-Die Sky

It's a humid day, and he's been in his part-time job for the past two hours since school let out. He's up in his arms with oil and grease and god knows what. He's sticky and dirty and there's oil on his head. All that and he still has to go home, fix dinner, and do his homework. He might love this job, but the sun is shining outside and it's too hot, and Sammy will be a little bitch if Dean stays too long in the shower in his attempt to get rid of the dirt.

Then the 1966 Pontiac GTO rolls in and he just...gapes.

"Wow," he manages to say. He wants to touch the shining metal, because the body's been waxed and looks well-cared for. The interior looks like the original leather. "Wow," he says again, and he realizes he's stammering but he just...doesn't care. The car is fucking _perfect._ "I haven't...the problem shouldn't..."

"Feel free to start making sense," a male voice interrupts him, amused.

Dean looks up to meet the eyes of the most gorgeous guy he's ever seen. It's the second time he falls in love.

All in a day, too. Must be his lucky day.

* * *

He and and the guy talk cars. Dean has always thought of himself as a smooth talker, but the combination of muscle car and cute guys seem to be his downfall, and he finds himself stammering and stealing looks at both the car and Michael.

It's a good thing the guy seems amused. "Michael Connelly," he introduces himself, then quickly gestures to he red Pontiac. "I just got her from my dad. Last week, actually."

"And you've already damaged her _now?_ " Dean asks, horrified.

Michael looks equally horrified. "No, oh my god, no!" he exclaims. "I just rolled her in here to get some air into the tires, y'know, and...I thought...Oh my god, it's embarrassing how much I love this car. I just thought, if anyone's gonna appreciate it, it would be someone in a car shop, y'know." He pauses, then looks at Dean in dismay. "I didn't mean..."

"No," Dean interrupts, grinning. "I...that's cool. I do. I like this car."

"Thanks," Michael says shyly. "Hey, are you from around here? I haven't seen you before."

Dean blinks. "Um. My family. We kind of just moved in this area. Scouting around for a cheap apartment, and...uh..." He stops, realizes it would be kind of embarrassing to tell this guy they live in a motel. "I haven't seen you in school?" he ventures instead.

Michael wrinkles his nose, and it distracts Dean a bit because it looks rounded and strangely cute amidst the small laugh lines that fold and...god, can he be anymore stupid? "I go to the local college," he says. "Was going to go the whole hundred miles away from home thing, y'know, but...thought I might try it out here for now. I usually stay in the dorms but I had to come back home for some car detailing. And my dad is kind of. Oh my god, you _cannot_ believe how stupid he can be with this car. I'm not going to let him drive. Seriously."

Dean nods sympathetically, remembering how Dad had driven the Impala through a fence last month. Okay, so they were being chased by a bog monster, but the car had serious muck and shit in her wheels, and it was slippery so he had to be careful too! "I know," he commiserated. "My dad is awful with the car, too. He takes care of it like a baby, but he can forget sometimes."

They're silent for a while, then someone at the back shouts, "Hey, Winchester! Call for you! And you'd better finish fixing the breaks of that Spacewagon."

"Be right there, Val," Dean calls back before he turns back. He gestures. "I gotta...go back..."

"Oh, yeah!" Michael jumps, looking flustered. "I mean, of course, I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay," Dean interrupts.

"I didn't mean to...I just wanted...Can I come back?" Michael blurts out.

Dean looks surprised. "I'm...kind of hoping you won't, dude," he says without thinking. Then wishes he can smack himself at the hurt look on Michael's face. "I mean, don't want you to come back with your car. I mean, this is a _garage,_ man. If you come back...you'd have to do serious damage, you know? Your car is classic. Don't mess it up, okay?"

"I'm kind of hoping..." Michael hesitates, then says quickly, "Iwannavisityou."

"Winchester!" Val is shouting. "Your brother sounds really pissed! Says you have to come to the phone now."

"Uh." Dean is staring at this cute guy. Did he really just say that? "I mean...I haven't..."

"Okay," Michael interrupts, and he has this stupidly cute hurt look on his face. "I shouldn't have...I mean, I thought..."

"Winchester!"

"Tell him to start the frigging dinner already, even _he_ can't mess up fried pork and beans," Dean snaps back, then turns back to Michael. He offers, "Hey, no, I want you to come back. And my name is...I'm..."

"Winchester," Val whines.

"Winchester," Michael says, a grin beginning to show on his face. "I think I got it."

"Um. Yeah, come back anytime," Dean says. "I'm always here after school. I go to the local high school. Um. You might...anyway." He takes a deep breath, then grins back. "You can call me Dean."

* * *

Apparently Sam _can_ mess up fried pork and beans, and Dean kind of wants to beat the kid up into little shit. "Oh my god, you just pour it into the pan, you freak. Why the hell is this black?"

"I wanted pasta," Sam whines. "You can't expect me to worry about homework and dinner at the same time?"

"Yes, I kind of do, Sam, I do it all the time." Dean rolls his eyes and proceeds to open the cupboard. If the canned spinach they got last week hasn't expired, it might save this mess. "I swear to god, if you can manage to cook boiled eggs properly, I'll start believing in angels. Yuck, god, Sam, why is this congealing?"

"I dunno," Sam tells him mournfully, sitting on the counter and looking at him. "After everything burned, I just left it there."

Dean sighs in relief. This can still be salvaged, if he's right that the congealed stuff is simply fat. He starts opening the can. "I'm serious, Sam, I might need to start putting some extra hours over at the garage. The extra money'll help us."

He can see Sam perk up at the corner of his eyes. "Hey, does this mean I can get some extra hours over at the library?"

"The library closes at six," Dean reminds him, but he's working it out in his mind. If Dean does his homework during lunch, and Sam stays an extra hour in the library, then Dean can get another extra hour or two in the garage. Enough time to earn some money.

He'll try it out for a week or so. Anyway, there's no guarantee that Michael will come back, but at least Dean will be earning some cash for the trouble.

And if Michael _does_ come back...

"Dean," Sam's voice interrupts his thoughts, "are you _humming?"_

* * *

Michael _does_ come back, and with the car. Val's the one who takes the call, but Dean comes out just in time, catching Michael looking hopelessly confused at Val's questions about, "What're the damages? Old car like this? Damages should be inside, right?"

"Hey, Val," Dean calls to him. "Your wife called, says she'll come earlier this shift."

"Oh shit," Val groans and goes back inside to call.

Michael grins at him when he comes near. "I take it Erica's still the best mechanic in this sorry shop?" he asks.

Dean nods. "Yep, but she has to stay away, doctor's orders, or she'll start working again and it's bad for her pregnancy."

Michael laughs. "I haven't met Val much, but I used to work well with Erica. She helped put this car back together, y'know."

"Wow," Dean sighs reverently. He wipes his hand and pats the Pontiac, appreciating her gleam. "You just gave her a wax?"

"Just this morning," Michael replies proudly. Then, he adds shyly, "I usually do it once a month, but I thought you might like..."

Dean grins because, _hell_ it's mighty flattering for someone to make an actual effort to impress him. And he's undoubtedly impressed. "Aww, you didn't have to," he says.

Michael gestures. "So. Um, what time do you get off? I mean... " He looks flustered. "Get out. I was thinking you might want to take a ride with me?"

Dean's about to accept, but he says, "No. Oh, no, I'm sorry. I have to...I have this..."

Michael nods, puts his hands inside his pocket. "S'okay," he murmurs.

"I have to make dinner," Dean hurriedly tells him. He has to make Michael understand that he still has obligations, but he _wants_ to go. "My little brother...I mean, my dad's out of town and I have to go back home and take care of him."

"Yeah," Michael says. He's clearly disappointed, but he says, "Hey, maybe we can meet at around 7? I mean, if you want, I know this great diner..."

"That's great, but—"

"Bring your brother along," Michael says, grinning. "I mean, if he's anything like you, he'll probably like this car, right?"

"Uh..." Now, Dean is torn because Sam's never shown any appreciation for any kind of car before, and he's certainly not going to bring his little brother to a possible date. That's _lame._

But Dean really wants to spend time with Michael. And the faint fluttering in his stomach is telling him that this is either love or he's really moved by Michael's words about dinner.

And the _1966 Pontiac GTO._

"C'mon," Michael wheedles, flashing him a shy grin.

Dean sighs and gives him a grin. "I'll have to tell him."

* * *

Sam gives him a condescending look. "Lame," he declares.

"I am not above leaving you here," Dean threatens, but he's only half-serious. There's still the thrum of Dad's disappointment lingering in his actions, and Dean can still remember the last time he left his little brother alone, he comes back with a fucking _ghoul_ on top of him. "Just...dinner, okay? And I'll give you a few bucks if you want to go to a movie with your friends, just..."

"Hey," Michael pops his head into the kitchen. "I just got word that the diner we're going to is having a sandwich special, and they're making their special Philly Cheese Steak Sandwiches. We better hurry."

Sam huffs. "I don't like sandwiches," he says sulkily.

"Sam!" Dean almost shouts.

Michael gives him a smile. "S'okay, they have other kinds of food. C'mon, Sammy, it'll be fun."

"Only _he_ gets to call me that," Sam tells him, crossing his arms.

Some of Michael's smile fades and he sends Dean a helpless look. "Oh. Well, sure, sorry. Listen, Dean, if it's not a good time."

"No, it _so is,"_ Dean says, glaring at Sam.

Sam glares back, then throws up his arms. "Okay, fine. Sure, Michael, it's no skin off my hair and I'd _love_ to see my big brother happy. Okay?"

"Good," Dean babbles, grabs Michael's arm and drags him to the front door. "Meet you at the car, Sammy, it's the awesomest car ever and it's right outside, can't miss it." He closes the door behind him and gives a nervous laugh. Oh god, Michael is going to think he's some kind of freak for living in a motel and Sam just ruined his life with his whining, and Michael is going to run off now and...

"Hey, it's okay," Michael soothes. "I have sisters. _Two_ of them. I can relate."

Dean sighs. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"No," Michael tells him firmly, giving his hand a squeeze. "He obviously likes you very much, or he'd obviously put up more fight. Or something."

Dean gives him a hesitant smile. "He must like you," he says. "If he's doing that. Sam can be such a brat sometimes."

"I'm glad he likes me," Michael says, stepping closer. And Dean realizes he hasn't let go of Michael's arm, and Michael's hand is squeezing his, and the car is right behind him and Michael is close. "But I'm kind of...y'know, hoping his older brother likes me, too."

Dean's eyes is dropping on Michael's lips and he's too close, and he's thinking, shit, I've never kissed a guy before, but it'll be easy, right, and he leans forward to meet Michael's lips—

"Can we go? I'm hungry." Sam's voice cuts through his head.

Dean jerks back and he feels Michael jumping, putting space between them. Sam, the little son of a bitch, is staring at them with an equally disgusted and sappy look on his face. "I mean, I know Dean loves his cheese steak sandwiches, so you'd better feed him before you kiss him. Just fair warning."

Dean is going to _kill him._

"Well they always say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," Michael says, winking at Dean.

Dean giggles—and maybe he's a little horrified at himself for acting like that, but he doesn't mind. He ignores Sam's disgusted huff, knows that the grin on his face can't be wiped away by stupid little brothers. He doesn't care.

Michael Connelly obviously _likes him._

* * *

Sam behaves himself during dinner, and even seems to forgive Michael when the guy tells Dean to add some salad to his burger. "Better have a well-balanced diet, right, Dean?" he says, and even Sam looks surprised.

They talk about mundane stuff during dinner. While Michael and Dean talk enthusiastically about cars and auto parts, getting on to baseball, Dean appreciates it when he seems to realize that Sam's been quiet for some time and makes an effort to talk to him. Sam kind of shrugs often or gives one-word answers, relenting only when Dean gives him a subtle kick under the table. Michael doesn't stop trying, but he seems to know when to stop, and he and Dean start talking again.

After dinner, they cruise around town for a while, and Michael suggests they all watch a movie. However, when they get there, a group of kids wave at Sam.

Dean cuffs his little brother. "Friends of yours?" he asks, nodding at the group.

One of them is on her way to them. Sam shuffles back, hands in his pockets. "We won't be around enough for me to make friends," he mumbles.

Dean looks at him in surprise. Michael is hanging back at the car to look for his jacket, so he knows Sam meant to tell this only to him. "You like making friends, Sam," he reminds him.

"Maybe," Sam replies cryptically. Then nods at the girl when she comes into earshot. "Hey, Lydia."

"Hey, Sam," the girl says. "We're gonna watch Rush Hour. It's in its third week and almost no one's gonna watch so..."

"Nah," Sam says. "I'm hanging out with my brother tonight."

Lydia looks surprised, and Dean wants to smack his head. Kid's totally killing his own reputation in high school. Single-handedly. What a weirdo. "S'okay, Sam," he says. "I've seen this flick already."

"When?" Sam demands.

"Uh, last month? Remember? Before we left town?" Dean lies.

Sam's eyes narrow. "It wasn't even showing then, Dean."

"Whatever." Dean sneaks a look; Michael is on their way to them. "Look, Lydia, my brother here? Loves Jackie Chan. _Loves him._ Gives him a hard on and everything—"

 _"Hey!"_

"—so, I will greatly appreciate it if..." Dean smacks a couple of dollars into Lydia's hand, and another five into Sam's pocket. "...you can make this kid appreciate proper kung-fu."

"DEAN!" Sam yells, outraged.

Lydia looks delighted, and her group of friends are staring at them in intrigue. "Wow, thanks, Sam's brother!" she says excitedly, then pulls Sam away. "C'mon, Sam, movie's almost starting—"

"You dirty little _son of a bitch!"_ Sam snarls as he's being dragged towards the theater. "I am going to _kill you!_ I will pee on your rocksalt! I'm gonna put glue in your shampoo, Dean, you—"

"We'll pick you up after the movie," Dean calls out.

"What was that all about?" Michael asks when he's nearer.

"Sam's just ecstatic to have his friends with this Jackie Chan movie," Dean says happily. He jerks his head to the car, grinning when he sees how it gleams under the streetlight. It's not even _his_ but he feels proud to be associated to it, even if it's by proxy. "There's nothing good showing."

"But Rush Hour is—"

"Wanna get out of here?"

Michael doesn't even hesitate. "Jesus, yes, of course."

* * *

They cruise for about an hour, talking about anything and everything. Michael tells him how he's already decided on his class. "Mechanical engineering," he says proudly. He explains how his dad used to help him build airplanes as a kid, and how his step-mom has been encouraging. He tells Dean how his real mother left them when he was younger, how his dad was heartbroken and would fix the car all day, then destroy it every night, only to fix it again the next day. It's how Michael got interested.

Dean tells him all he could. He tells him how his dad has to travel for work, so he's been stuck with Sam since he was a kid. Not that he minds. "Sammy's a good kid," he tells Michael. "He's really smart. Probably even get to college one day, who knows?"

When Michael parks away from the highway, between the darkness of looming pine trees, Dean starts to get antsy, as he always does with strangers. He's calculating how fast he can move to grab the knife strapped to his ankles, if his sneakers is enough to kick a werewolf away, or even a shapeshifter...

But Michael keeps his eyes on the windshield, hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Um." Dean clears his throat, says hoarsely, "What are you...?"

"We can just talk," Michael blurts out, not looking at him. "Or we can. You know, keep driving. But I thought you might..."

Dean stares at him, then realizes...oh. _Oh._ And goddammit, he should've recognized it, because he's done it to girls before, and he should've...

...What the hell was he thinking?! _Shapeshifter?_

He leans forward and whispers, "Hey, let's make out."

"Yeah," Michael breathes, _finally_ turns to him. His eyes are dark blue and Dean loves that his curly hair falls over his face. He's itching to brush it away. "Hey, yeah, but...you know, Dean, no pressure...no pressure at all..."

Their lips meet.

* * *

Dean's the one who pulls away later, gasping, _"Sammy!"_

"What?" Michael moans. His hand are still latched on Dean's hips, his erection bulging against his jeans where Dean was rubbing against him, dicks meeting. His lips are puffy and he looks ready to come and so fucking _delicious._ Dean kisses him again, lets Michael thrust his tongue inside for another few seconds before he pulls back. "Dean..."

"Sammy," Dean interrupts a little wildly. "I have to get Sammy."

Michael peers into the watch, groans, and thumps his head back into the car. "Jesus, it's midnight. Maybe he's home already..."

"No," Dean tells him. "Just...can we drive to the theater? If I tell him I'll pick him up, I'm gonna pick him up."

Michael faces forward and takes a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah, okay, let's pick him up." He adjusts his pants and Dean can't help letting his eyes fall again... Michael groans. "Jesus Christ, Dean, can you...I mean, it'll be kind of difficult to drive with a hard on, so you..."

"Yeah." Dean knows, and he looks away quickly, abashed. "Sorry, I mean. I didn't..."

"Hey," Michael says, reaching out to touch his hand. "It's okay. I mean, we'll take it slow. We have a long time, yeah?"

Dean bites his lips and sneaks a look at Michael. "Yeah," he whispers. _A long time,_ sounds great.

"God," Michael breathes. "Your lips, I have to..." His fingers trace over Dean's lips. It feels puffy and bruised from hours of kissing, wet from saliva. Dean licks his fingers without thinking, loves the groan Michael emits.

"Sammy," he reminds Michael.

"Okay." Michael pulls away quickly, puts the car into reverse. "Okay, you'd better keep your hands to yourself. 'Cause I can't look at you, or else we'll have to park again. And Sam is _definitely_ going home by himself."

A part of Dean wants to protest, No way, because Sam _isn't_ like that, but he's long ago known that it's no use explaining it to other people. Anyway, no matter what Michael says, Dean can't seem to stop looking at him. And maybe Michael likes it too, 'cause he keeps shifting in his seat and adjusting his pants when his hand's not on the clutch.

Yup, Michael seems to like it just fine.

* * *

Sam looks _furious_ when they arrive; he's sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, and his expression is tight. He accepts Michael's apology with a curt nod but he ignores Dean, just gets into the backseat and sits in stony silence.

When they arrive in the motel, he goes out without even a goodnight and runs to their room. Dean sighs and gives Michael an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he _hates it._ Hates this responsibility with a new passion, even though he's glad of it, pathetically glad that Sam did as Dean told him, because he believed in Dean, _knew_ he'd come back. It's more than Sam ever did for Dad, and Dean knows it's loyalty, even if Sam is angry and Dean is kind of hating him for it. "I had a good time."

"Yeah," Michael says, smiling softly. He cups Dean's face, traces his cheek, and Dean kind of wants to stay there, closes his eyes. Michael's hands are big and strong. Dean knows he can take this guy down, but he feels the unbidden strength, the warmth there. He feels precious. "I had a good time, too. I'm sorry about Sammy."

Dean shrugs. "Not your fault. He's my responsibility."

"Kind of mine, too, if I want to keep dating you," Michael says.

Dean's heart stops. "You...um..."

Michael smiles shyly and he stops tracing Dean's cheek. "If you want?" he offers.

"Yeah," Dean breathes. "I want to. Maybe we can..."

"This weekend?" Michael asks. "Sam can join, if he wants."

"Yeah," Dean says, "um, no. If we schedule it ahead of time, it won't be so problematic, right?"

Michael nods, leans forward. "So, I'll see you?"

"Yeah." Dean leans in as well, kisses him softly, gasps when Michael leans in and gives him the promise of more. He touches Michael's neck, takes a deep breath, and pulls back. "Come to the garage when you can, 'kay? We'll...I dunno. Detail your car. Something."

"That'd be nice," Michael says. "You'd better go inside. I can see Sam peeking through the windows."

"That shit," Dean growls, and with one last peck on Michael's cheek, he jumps out of the car and stalks straight to the door.

He's barely even locked the door behind him when Sam yells, "What the hell, Dean? You'd better be frigging glad I finished my homework already or else I'll be failing—"

"Oh, grow up, it was just one night!"

"You said you'd be back for me!" Sam shouts. "I sat there for two hours, thinking you might be dead, that some ghost or vampire had caught you!"

"—Vampires are extinct."

"Shut up!" Sam launches himself to him, cuffs him on the shoulder hard. Dean stumbles, surprised. "I was _worried_ , you asshole! Do you know how fucking _scared_ I was? What if Michael was after us? What if he turned out to be some kind of ghoul? A werewolf? With our track record, I wouldn't be surprised!"

"Well he wasn't!" Dean stares at him. "What...Sam, I'm really sorry, okay, we lost track of—"

"Fuck you," Sam snarls, and pushes him again, enough that Dean lands on the couch. "I didn't know, okay? And you...while you were making out with your _boyfriend,_ I didn't know if I should go home or call Dad or..."

"Hey." Dean grabs his wrist and pulls him closer. Sam struggles for a long time, but Dean tightens his hold around him, pulls him to him so they're lying on the couch, Sam on top of Dean with his arms around his little brother. He knows, and with a sick knot in his throat, he thinks how Sam should be free to go around, and not worry about his older brother. "I'm okay, right? I'm here."

"I hate this, Dean," Sam breathes. He's stopped struggling, only he's buried his face into Dean's neck. "I hate feeling like this, like we have to be alert all the frigging time. I want to...I don't want to worry about you just because...you deserve nice dates, Dean, and not..."

"Seriously," Dean interrupts, rolling his eyes, "you don't have to. Michael's cool. And if it makes you feel better, I brought a knife with me. And a handcuff. And a lock pick."

Sam gives a huff. "Good thing Michael didn't see those," he says. "Might've been awkward for a first date." His arms start worming around Dean's waist and he squirms a little. "Hey. Sorry I was a bitch. I wasn't..."

"S'okay," Dean murmurs. "You're always a bitch."

"Jerk." Sam huffs again, but it's with laughter now. "I hope you...Dean, you deserve to enjoy yourself without worrying about your little brother, okay? I want you to know that."

"Shut up," Dean tells him crossly. "Anymore word and this is going to end up like one of those stupid rom coms with a dash of Disney. Let's stash the awkwardness, okay?"

He knows that Sam is remembering the many dates he's had to give up, all the projects and after-school organizations he'd had to turn down in their past high schools. He knows Sam feels guilty, but Dean doesn't want him to.

When Sam snuggles closer, Dean closes his eyes and remembers Michael's touch, Michael's lips on his, Michael's fingers on the waistband of his pants, cupping his ass, grinding them together.

And Dean knows—with sickening clarity—he just _knows_ with all his heart and body and soul, that he'll give them all up just to go home to Sam.

* * *

Dean Winchester is 17 when he falls in love for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Original prompt:** _Dean meets the cutest boy ever. puppylove!kink (butterflies and the works). Feel free to play with age and MC´s identity (I have no problem with him being Sam)._


End file.
